#katd

they'd met before, before things got so complicated in her family, well less complicated. five-hundred and seventy years, two-hundred and eight thousand and fifty days into her immortal life.

she was the baby of the family, and although she was not born of mikaelson blood, she was treated like it, and at the same time she was proud to be a dragohov. proud to be born to one of the most powerful mutants of the old world, to be born to spirit warriors, to be the second ever female shifter in her line, next to her mother. her "bothers" were always protective of rebekah and who she saw romantically. they were less wary about her though because she never found an interest in significant others and relationships, she was waiting. waiting for an imprint. waiting for her person. she thought waiting was enough for her. but it wasn't until she heard him say hello.

then her world got a little bit brighter. she saw the allure of what rebekah wanted whenever she sought more suitors. she smiled more, brighter, when with him. she saw her person and suddenly didn't really mind not imprinting. her forever.

they'd met before, before he was enlisted in a cause he found he couldn't support, just to avoid letting his prideful texan patriarch down. sixteen-just turned-seventeen, six-thousand, two-hundred and five days since his birth.

he was an only child, expected to become the next patriarch and landowner of the whitlock "legacy". he never saw a future for himself outside of that, never found an interest in women, or men even, but would of married if it meant making his mother proud. he never really saw himself with children, growing old with a ring on his finger. he would rather focus on living in the now, help his mama around the house, make her smile, he thought that was enough. but it wasn't until he saw her.

then he saw a future. he saw more than his mama's smile. he saw himself with that ring on his finger in a house just for them. he saw more than making his father proud, more than the whitlock "legacy". his forever.

she saw the sunrise when he smiled. he saw his universe in her eyes. they were each others worlds. she was the sun and he was the moon. they only had eyes for each other, prepared to do anything for one another. she decided if it got her to him, she'd repeat every tragedy she'd ever faced. he decided that if it got him to her, he'd repeat every mundane day he ever experienced. they we're each others breath of fresh air, each others escape. she showed him the stars and he gave her life. and they wanted it forever.

and then it was taken from him. taken from her. taken from them. and just like that he became a deity she could never reach, and she became a kaiju he couldn't ever forget.

she was, after all, a kaiju amongst the deities.

Distractions set in as I sit in this isolated cubicle. Smells are the biggest trigger to stop the train of concentration running through my head, each time a I get a whiff of a new scent it's as though my work disappears and my focus switches to locating the either awful or unpleasant smell; usually awful. The signs that read the food and drink policy for the library seem to be invisible to students here at UTSC. I used to think libraries had such an old dungy smell to them, like the books from my grandmother’s house that were 40 years old and have survived water damage and years of laying in a damp basement. Now when I think of a library I think of the designer clothing on people’s bodies and the smells of the foods they ingest while the try and accomplish work, I guess I’ve forgotten the things the give a library character and instead have focused on the people within the space itself. Anyways, the sound of peoples fingers gripping onto a page of paper turning through multiple times and the squeak of the chairs make shivers run up and down my spine. Hearing the bottom of a chair scratch the concrete floor is almost like running my nails down a chalkboard. Cringe worthy x1000.  

But what you did was the worst thing a person could do. 

You were so perfect.

You made me fall so hard.

And you had no intention of catching me.

It’s unfair.

It’s completely unfair. 

And I hate you for it.

I hate you so much for being my idea of perfect. I hate you for doing exactly what I expected you to do. 

But mostly, I hate you for convincing me you were different. 

I hate myself for still having our messages.

I hate myself for reading them right now. 

I hate that you knocked me down so hard that I still can’t get back up.